


Dying Men

by buttsbeyondbutts



Series: Lives AU [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death In Dream, F/M, Flashbacks, Mental Health Issues, Past Abuse, Post-Pennywise (IT), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:00:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21826321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttsbeyondbutts/pseuds/buttsbeyondbutts
Summary: Bev had never met any of the dying men. She recognized them though. As blood poured on to the bathroom floor, or a car veered off the road or flames crashed down, Bev knew these men. She knew the boys they had been and she loved them, deeper than she loved anyone in her life. She felt their fear and pain and grief as if it were her own. Bev knew with absolute certainty, only possible in dreams, that she could have helped them if they were together.When she woke up, she couldn't remember their names.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, The Losers Club & Beverly Marsh
Series: Lives AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1515356
Comments: 6
Kudos: 61





	Dying Men

1990

Beverly Marsh woke with a hacking cough. Smoke filled her lungs as the heat of the air burned her skin. Flames crackled but she couldn't see them. 

She couldn't see anything but her dark bedroom. Her desk with her books stacked on the corner and pens in a cup stood where she left it. The next days outfit hung waiting in her open closet. A poster of the Eiffel tower hung next to her bed.

She could still smell smoke.

Bev stood up. When she lived with her father, she'd never have risked it. No matter how quiet she was, he'd wake and assume she was sneaking out. Aunt Delia didn't sleep in the livingroom though. In two years, she'd never accused Bev of sleeping around or anything else Daddy used to worry about. They had their arguments of course but Delia wouldn't beat her for getting a glass of water.

Still, she tried to keep quiet. 

Tap water filled the glass as she attempted to hold on to the dream. Bev didn't remember her dreams much. These ones only came about once a month. She only remembered them for a few minutes, an hour at most, until the next one came. 

She dreamed about men. There were six of them in rotation. They were old.

_No,_ Bev lifted the glass to her lips and drained it. _Not old. Just older. Teacher old._

Some of the men were even good looking. Or they might have been if Bev wasn't watching them die. 

Bev had never met any of the dying men. She recognized them though. As blood poured on to the bathroom floor, or a car veered off the road or flames crashed down, Bev knew these men. She knew the boys they had been and she loved them, deeper than she loved anyone in her life. She felt their fear and pain and grief as if it were her own. Bev knew with absolute certainty, only possible in dreams, that she could have helped them if they were together.

When she woke up, she couldn't remember their names.

Tonight's dream had faded almost entirely. The taste of smoke left her lips. She couldn't recall the dying man's face, only his desperation as he ran into the burning building. 

"Beverly?" Aunt Delia peered through the doorway. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." The memory of a quiet boy who always called her Beverly disappeared into the air. "Just a bad dream."

"Oh dear." She wore her blue silk robe. Bev had never coveted anything with such intensity. "What about?"

"I don't even remember," Bev shrugged. She could tell Delia didn't believe her. She thought she was having nightmares about her father again. "I think there was a fire or something?"

"Alright," Delia didn't believe her. She smiled anyway and patted her shoulder. "Try to go back to sleep. You still have school tomorrow."

"Thanks, Aunt D."

Delia hesitated. She wrapped her arms around Bev's shoulders in a quick hug. "I'm so glad you're here, Beverly."

Bev blinked and hugged her back. "Me too."

November 2016

Beverly's nightmares weren't like Richie's. Strictly speaking, Beverly refused to discuss her nightmares so Ben didn't know how different they were. She didn't react like Richie though. Richie screamed to wake the devil and thrashed around until something woke him up. Beverly stayed quiet and still. You couldn't even tell she was dreaming until you saw the tears.

Ben felt the tears on his shirt. She clutched the fabric too tight, threatening to rip it. 

"Beverly?" Ben reached up to wipe the tears. He spoke a little louder now. "Beverly, wake up!"

She woke up. She blinked, shaking and uncertain. "It's okay. We're okay."

"Ben," her voice cracked. She hugged him close, sobbing quietly.

Ben let her cry. She kissed him, running her fingers over his face and shoulders, checking for injuries.

"Who was it?"

Bev shook her head. Sometimes she'd tell him and they'd go over pictures of their friends. Bill's wife updated her Instagram often. Occasionally they caught glimpses of him , lurching around like a literary cryptic. Bill was alive.

Richie sent memes over the group chat, interspersed with Eddie updates. Eddie himself called once a week. Commiseration over lengthy divorces turned into animated conversations about the golden age of television and plans for the holidays. Richie and Eddie were alive.

Mike sent a selfie every time he got a signal. They had Mike at Disneyworld, Mike in the Everglades, Mike in Miami, Mike in New Orleans. He planned to meet everyone in LA for Bill's premiere. Mike was alive.

Stan was gone. Beverly called Patty once a week, to check if there was anything she needed. They had an actual friendship now, long after Patty's other friends had stopped calling. If she thought it was odd, that a stranger should mourn her husband so strongly, Patty didn't mention it. Beverly said it was the least she could do.

"What can I do?" Ben asked stroking her hair.

"Just be here," she said, resting her head on his chest.

Ben was there.

1994

Bev pushed her eggs to the edge of her plate, stomach turning. Her roommate, a pretty girl with a slight Californian accent, raised her eyebrows. "You're not eating?"

"Not right now." She pushed her tray to the other end.

"You mind if I?" Jiaoying lifted her fork over the untouched eggs.

Bev nodded. "Hey, did I say anything in my sleep last night?"

"No. Why?"

Bev pushed her hair behind her ear. She'd let it grow for her senior pictures and now she wanted to chop it all off again. "I had this weird dream."

"Ooo!" Jiaoying swallowed her eggs. "I love interpreting dreams. What were you doing?"

Bev shrugged. "I wasn't in it. It was about this guy."

"Was he hot?"

"No, he wasn't hot!" Bev snapped. A wave of nostalgia and anxiety washed over her but she didn't understand why. "He was old- like forty or something."

"Ew." 

"No." She felt oddly protective. "He felt like... like a brother I never met. He was in this old house, eating breakfast with his wife." Bev wrinkled her nose. She did not like the wife. "She put something in the food. He knew it was making him sick but he kept eating them."

"Weird." Jiaoying finished the eggs. 

"He died." Bev said. The man died, sick to the gills and absolutely miserable. He just let her poison him, waiting for the pills to take effect. He wanted to die. She could feel him hate himself, fear his wife, and lament the wretched mistake of his birth. He'd lost everyone, froze when it mattered most. Now he willing ate poison, finally becoming the invalid his mother always wanted.

Bev had tried to reach him, warn him or stop him. The man just kept getting sicker as his wife pumped him full of drugs. Bev woke up panicked, ready to hop on the next flight to- somewhere.

She didn't know him but she wanted the sick man to live. She wanted all of them, every dying man that sprung out of her subconscious, to live.

"You should switch majors." Jiaoying said.

"What?"

"That's what the dream means." She knocked back her coke like a shot. "You're the husband. The wife is the fashion industry poisoning you with unobtainable beauty standards."

"I'm impressed," Bev said, "that was some very convincing bullshit."

"Well," Jiaoying shrugged smugly. "Lit major."

Bev was starving by lunch time, with no idea why she skipped breakfast. 

November 2016

Ben leaned over the electric schematic for the museum. He gnawed at the end of his pencil, trying to figure out what was wrong. Something felt off but his cursory knowledge of electrical engineering was... well cursory. 

"Jess?"

His assistant looked up from her own pad with an inquiring hum. 

"Does this look right to you?"

She put her pencil behind her ear and joined him at the drawing table. Sharp amber eyes dissected the blue prints for a moment. "Nothing's jumping out at me. Did you ask Dave?"

"Not yet," Ben crossed his arms. "I'd rather have an actual complaint, rather than the generic 'something feels off'."

"Mmm." Jess nodded. "Have you heard anything from Alejandro?"

"His leg's healing but I don't want to bother him with this." Ben missed his usual electrician. With Alejandro, he wouldn't even bother double checking the schematics this far into a build, but he'd been stuck with Dave after Alejandro fell down his stairs. Ben didn't care for Dave.

"I can check out the site later, if you want." Jess offered. 

"I'll go," Ben said. "It's probably nothing."

"Mr. Hanscom?" The receptionist called over the intercom. "Beverly Marsh to see you."

Her name still sent a shock of excitement through his body. "Send her in."

Beverly smiled shyly, pushing her hair behind her ear. "Hi."

"Hi." Ben put his pencil down and kissed her. He still couldn't believe he got to kiss her. "Did we have a date?"

She shook her head. "My meeting went short. I thought we could do lunch. Unless I'm interrupting-"

"Nothing." Ben grinned. "Do you know Jess?"

"Jessica D'Agata," she held out her hand. "I'm Mr. Hanscom's assistant."

Recognition and fear flashed over Beverly's face for one instant. She took Jess's hand warmly. "Ben told me you were the most promising young architect of the decade."

Her dark skin flushed red. "He said that?"

"I told you that." Ben said. "Multiple times!"

The women ignored him. 

"What are you working on, Jess?" Beverly motioned to her sketch book.

"Just a few drawings." Still blushing, she held open the little notebook for inspection. Ben gathered his jacket, watching them talk.

"These are beautiful," Beverly traced her hand over the page.

"Thank you." Ben had never seen Jess quite so flustered. Beverly had that effect on people, intimidating and encouraging at the same time. "I was in Chicago last month. They have the most incredible cathedrals." 

"I never went to church much," Beverly said, "but I always passed St. Andrew's on my way to the office."

"Did you live in Chicago, Ms. Marsh?"

"Bev, please." Bev smiled. "I actually just moved from there."

"Oh." Jess said, belatedly remembering where she'd heard the name Beverly Marsh before. The gossip about her divorce had died down with the election results but it was still known.

Beverly didn't bat an eye. "Did you go for the cathedrals alone or do you have family there?"

Jess nodded. "My parents live there."

Ben shouldered his bag. "Shall we?"

"Mmm." She nodded and gave Jess a hug. "So nice to meet you." 

"Nice to meet you." She smiled shyly.

"I'll be back in an hour." Ben said. 

"Have fun." Jess waved, still staring at Beverly.

Ben waited until they got to the elevator before teasing her. "I think you've got an admirer."

Beverly frowned, staring at their reflection in the glass doors. "How long have you known that girl?"

Ben blinked. "Two years, two and a half. She won a scholarship I co-sponsor. Why?"

"She's talented." Beverly murmured, almost talking to herself. "Kind."

"What's wrong?"

She turned and took him by the shoulders. "What are you doing tonight?"

Ben blinked. "I thought I'd finish up some work at the site."

"Don't." Her voice went sharp and deadly serious. "Don't go to the site. Don't let Jess go either."

"Why?" Ben put his hand on her shoulder. "Bev, what's going on?"

"Please, Ben. Don't go to the site."

"Okay." Ben said. "I won't go. I won't send Jess. I promise."

The tension drained as Beverly breathed in. "Thank you."

"Can you tell me what this is about?"

She turned back to the doors, clutching her purse. "No."

He would have questioned her further but the doors opened and she stepped out into the lobby.

2006

She woke with a start, rushing to the bathroom. Bev threw open the door, ready to grab him. It wasn't too late. She could stop the bleeding, call an ambulance and he'd be fine.

He didn't want to die. He could still make it.

Except the bathroom was empty. No running water. No blood or razor. No dying man.

Bev slumped back against the door frame, shaking. She slid down to the floor. Silent tears exploded out of her.

"Hey!" Tom nudged her with his foot. "The hell's wrong with you."

Bev swallowed. She couldn't seem to catch her breath. Tom crouched down next to her, eyes narrowed. "You look sick."

Bev felt sick. She pushed her hair back, trying to gain her bearings. The bathroom stood silent and pristine. All the blood was gone. She wouldn't even have to take the rags to the laundry mat.

"If you're knocked up, we're not keeping it." Tom said.

"I'm not pregnant." Bev said. She wiped her eyes. "Just a nightmare."

"About?"

She shook her head. "Can't remember."

It would be true in a few hours. The dying men always faded. Tom would lose it if she said she dreamed of other guys, even if said guys were slitting their wrists in the bathroom.

He hadn't wanted to die. The man- she couldn't recall his name anymore- cut his wrists through to save his friends. It had been logical, even if Bev couldn't understand the logic. He'd loved them enough to die.

Tom glared at her for a moment. Then he stood up. "Get your ass back to bed," he said. "We've got a meeting in the morning."

She followed, closing the bathroom door behind them. Bev lay down next to her boyfriend. The nightmare faded but she didn't sleep a wink.

November 2016

Beverly called Richie that afternoon. 

He hoped she'd talk to him about the nightmares. Richie knew about the deadlights. If she wouldn't talk to Ben, she should talk to someone.

He did not intend to eavesdrop. Beverly paced when she talked on the phone. Ben just sat in the livingroom, reading the newspaper, pretending not to hear her half of the conversation.

"You'll get a ride home, right?" She said, in her bossiest voice. "Promise me, Richie. Call an uber or cab or walk. Don't drive."

She waited while Richie answered. "Okay. Thank you. I will. Give my love to Eddie." She smiled. "Love you too, Richie."

She hung up and joined him on the couch. Ben put his arm around her shoulder. "How's Richie?"

"He says hi." Beverly sighed. "He'd going to a mic tonight."

"That's good, isn't it?" Richie had been writing new material for months, too anxious to try it on stage.

"Mmm." She said.

"You don't think it's good?"

"The mic isn't the problem." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm paranoid."

Ben put his tablet away. "Is this about the deadlights?"

She nodded, squeezing her eyes closed. "Richie dies in a car crash, coming back from a show."

"No, he doesn't." He kissed her cheek. "We killed It. What you saw isn't set anymore."

"I keep having the dreams."

"I know. I'm sorry." He brushed his fingers through her hair. "They're not real though. They're deadlights and trauma."

"I know." She sat up, shaking her head. "I know but... they feel real, Ben! I feel what they feel, the pain and the grief. It's like I'm dying with you. Richie's drunk. He knows he's drunk, he hasn't not been drunk since Mike called. He gets behind the wheel anyway. He wants to die."

"Beverly," he took her hands and squeezed. "Richie doesn't want to die. He's happy. He's happier than he's ever been."

"I know." She sniffed. "I know."

"And do you really think Eddie'd let him do something that stupid?"

She shook her head. "It's easier with Eddie and Mike. What I saw can't happen anymore." She said. "Even Stan. He can't die twice, but Richie still drinks and Bill works too hard and you-" she cut herself off.

He pulled her into a tight hug. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I love you," she sobbed into his shoulder.

"I love you too." He murmured. She kissed him. "I'm not going anywhere."

2009

_He pours himself another shot. It's raining outside. He's useless in the rain. He throws back the burbon and swallows. Perhaps he's useless over all._

_The paper in his typewriter is blank, except for one clean sentence._

_I killed my brother._

_Straight and to the point, like bourbon. His creative writing professors would be proud._

_She cannot get to him. She cannot stop his shaking hand or shaking voice. She cannot save him._

_The dying man stands up when they call him. He's needed on set. The director doesn't like his ending. It's too bleak._

_They don't understand like the dying man does. They don't understand like the dreaming woman._

_There are no bad endings, he thinks as the trailer, unsafely moored, starts to slid in the mud. Any ending at all is a blessing._

_It's over._

Kay poked her shoulder. Bev blinked through tears. "Hey, babe it's over."

"What?" She wiped her eyes, smearing mascara. 

"The party?" Kay grinned. "You seriously fell asleep?"

Her head ached as she sat up. "Oh my god." She looked around. "Where's Tom?"

_He's going to kill me,_ she thought, remembering another dream. 

"In the bathroom." Kay said. "He got pretty smashed."

"Great." _Maybe he'll miss._

"You okay, babe?" Kay put a hand on her shoulder. "You look like you've been crying."

"Must've had a bad dream." She smiled. "It's gone now."

"Good!" Kay said. "It's all Hope and Change from now on."

Bev nodded, barely listening as her friend rhapsodized about the new president. Tom staggered out of the bathroom, pants half undone. Bev greeted him with a kiss. She wanted to go home, to let the night end. Any ending was a blessing.

November 2016

The phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand. Ben groped in the darkness, squirming out of Beverly's hold. "Hello?" 

"This Ben Hanscom?" A stranger's voice greeted him. 

"Yes," Ben rubbed his eyes. It was just passed two in the morning.

"Sorry to wake you, sir. I'm Chief Branigan of the Washington Fire Department. There's been a fire."

Ben sat up. "What?"

"You got some faulty wiring up here," Branigan continued. "Spark caught and damn near took out half your structure."

"Oh my god." He got up, pulling on his pants. "Was anyone inside?"

"Not that we can tell, sir." Branigan said. He sounded like he was listing stock prices or average rain fall in September. "It's basically contained now, if you wanna head down."

"Yeah, I'll be right there." Beverly sat up, watching him carefully. "Thank you."

"What's wrong?"

"Fire at the site." He pulled on his hoodie. "I've got to go."

"Don't!" She grabbed his hand and squeezed. "Ben, please don't go. Wait- just wait."

"I can't-" _did you know this would happen?_ "I have to go."

She hesitated for a minute, the grabbed her hoodie. "Fine. I'm going too."

Ben wanted to argue but she was already gone, racing out to the car.

August 2016

"Mike!" She broke into a run when she saw him. He turned slightly, slipping his phone in his pocket.

"Bev? I was about to call you. What-?"

She slapped him. "You were gonna go down there alone! Are you insane?!"

Mike winced, rubbing his cheek. "Contrary to popular belief. What-"

"I saw you!" She shouted. "Under Neibolt! By yourself! You tried to do it alone!"

Ben had caught her. Strong arms wrapped around her stomach, holding her as he'd done when the nightmare struck. She elbowed him off, a first in their new relationship, and rounded on Mike. "How could you be so stupid?"

"I wasn't!" Mike said. "We all went down together. You know that. It was a week ago!"

Bev blinked hard. Memories warred in her mind. They seemed equally real. One set where they all went together, where Ben's stomach was carved open, where she nearly drowned, where Eddie got impaled, and one where Mike faced It alone, with nothing but a bolt gun.

"Deadlights," she leaned back against Ben, shaking her head. "I thought they'd go away."

"Beverly?" Ben asked, tentatively. 

"I'm sorry." She wiped her eyes. "Mike, I'm so sorry."

"It's fine," Mike said. "I've been hit harder."

She shook her head. "No, I mean for leaving you here. I saw what happened in the Deadlights. We don't come back. You go after It alone."

"Oh," Mike stepped back. He leaned against the emergency call box and looked down at his hands for a long moment. "Do I get any shots in?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Ben interjected. "You went down there alone?!"

"No." They answered in unison.

"That was the plan," Mike said. "If you guys didn't show up, or decided to leave. I was going down there, one way or another."

Something broke in Ben's brain. "Mikey, why the fuck would you do that?"

Mike shrugged. "Dead kids," he said, "plus or minus twenty seven years of my life figuring out how to defeat that thing."

"Stupid." Bev muttered, even though she understood his reasoning perfectly. Pennywise would never just let Mike go. If It couldn't take the rest, It would torture the last in their place. She shivered, remembering the fire and the teeth and the awful, awful voice. _You're all alone, Mikey. No friends coming. I'm your only friend. You're all alone with me._

Mike hugged her. "None of that was real. You guys showed up, Bev. You saved my life. It's dead."

Bev just sobbed. Ben joined the hug, shielding her back from the rain. Bev stood there, crying in their arms, until Mike suggested visiting Eddie. He'd woken up again the night before. Bill was bedside and Richie was beside himself. Bev went in, leaning heavily on Ben. Her dying men lived.

November 2016

The museum was shot. Sixty percent burned, the rest damaged from the smoke. Months of work: gone.

"Have you heard from Jess?" Beverly pulled her coat around her.

"Not yet." Ben said. "It's four in the morning. She's probably asleep."

She closed her eyes tight. "Good."

Ben held her close, brushing is fingers through soft red hair. She was still beautiful, sleep deprived and panicked. She pushed her face into his chest and whispered his name.

"Is this what you saw?" He asked. "Is this how I died?"

"Ben."

"Beverly," he cupped her cheek in his palm. "Please?"

"They're not specific." She said in a soft, hollow voice. "There's a fire in a building. A construction site. Someone is trapped in there. You go inside to save them." Pale hands curled into fists, gripping his jacket. "You're so brave, Ben. You don't care if you get out. You go in again and again. You burn. Please don't ever be that brave."

"Beverly."

"Promise me!" She looked up at him, eyes like flame. "Don't tell me it's not real! Just promise you won't-"

"I promise." He kissed her. "I promise on everything, I will not run into any burning buildings. I promise I don't want to die. I'll be here... for a long, long time."

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Beverly snorted. "Go ahead. I'm fine."

Ben nodded. He kept one arm around her shoulder. "Jess? You alright?"

" 'm fine," she mumbled. "What's wrong?"

"We had a fire at the site." He said. "We wanted to make sure you weren't inside."

"Holy shit." She was instantly awake. "What happened? Do I need to get down there?"

"There's not much you could do," Ben sighed. He looked over the smouldering remains of his building. "We'll have to start over."

"Jesus." She sighed.

"Hey, that's what insurance is for." Ben said. "Get some rest. I'll talk to you later."

He hung up and turned to Beverly. "She's fine."

For the first time in hours, she relaxed. "Thank God." She leaned close. "Thank fucking God."

"I love you, Beverly." Ben whispered, so grateful that he got to say it.

"I love you too."

August 2016

For twenty seven years, she'd been dreaming about them. Six random men, men she knew but couldn't name, dying in front of her over and over.

A suicide. An overdose. A car crash. A clown. A landslide. A fire.

They had names now. Stan, Eddie, Richie, Mike, Bill and Ben. They had faces and families and jobs and lives. She'd watched each of them end, unable to save them. She loved them but she couldn't remember. 

Bev remembered everything now. She remembered things that hadn't happened, things that can't happen.

She remembered Stan in the bathtub.

Eddie choked on pills.

Richie let go of the wheel.

Mike consumed.

Bill slid.

Ben ran toward flames.

She remembered her husband on top of her. His hands pressed into her throat, cutting off her air. _"You're not going anywhere."_

Bev remembered dying. Seven deaths, not six. Tom choked the life out of her, again and again for twenty seven years.

Except he hadn't. The Deadlights lied. When it really mattered, she'd fought him off. She'd left him as she left her father. 

_"You haven't saved any of them!"_ The clown had said but she could. Her friends weren't dead yet, not all of them anyway. Bev's future changed. Why couldn't theirs?

She walked into the mouth of hell, carrying a broken fence post like a spear, trying to make dying men live.

November 2016

They slept well.

**Author's Note:**

> I reaaallly just wanted angst.
> 
> Please comment


End file.
